'Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate.'

*ASHER'S POV*

November 4, 2016.

High block. Dribble. A swift crossover to avoid Max. A quick glance at the defense and the clear basket. Then, I gathered some momentum, jumped, and—

PHWEEE!

The ball went off course as all my nerves stood on end at the shrilling sound. Though not as shrilling as the whizzing call that followed.

"Asher! Get your ass here!"

One whistle blow, and the old chunk couldn't move, more out of breath than I was after 40 minutes of working out.

"A problem, coach?" I turned towards the sidelines, plastering a tight smile above my clenching jaw before facing the coach Gyles who looked me up and down from his small stool.

"What were you doing?"

Baking a pizza. Wasn't it obvious?

Probably not for his beady eyes, so I threw my hands up to point at the basket.

"I was about to score a decisive point when you whistled for the third fucking time."

"Yeah, and do you know why?" He crossed his arms over his chest, the nylon fabric of his tee shirt straining over his large paunch, almost as much as my jaw as I replied,

"Because you like your new whistle?"

If I'd known last Summer, I would've chosen something bigger to drown in the pool for the end-of-the-year prank.

"Yes—No!" he gasped, a hand over his precious new whistle. "Because you don't follow the strategy we voted."

"You mean the strategy that got the other side to lose the ball? What did you want me to do? Pass the ball when I'm the best shooter, and I knew I could score? 'Cause that's the aim of the game in case you forgot."

And not losing time like we were doing right now, the seconds ticking through my ribcage as he continued his sermon.

"Basketball is a team game in case you forgot. It's the third time you don't listen to any of the instructions and almost make a foul. So now you go on the bench, and you'll stay there until you start to follow the strategy, even if it takes all season!"

"What's the fuck?! Are you out of your fucking mind?! You don't leave Asher Rohan on the bench!"

Yes, I was talking in the third person because, at the moment, I wasn't Asher; I was a fucking bomb ready to explode.

"Well, maybe you'll learn to pass the ball and follow the strategy, watching your teammates from there." He got up from his stool to assert his authority over me and Liam on the bench as he motioned for him to replace me. Though both failed since he was still hidden behind my tall figure, his height barely larger than his width.

With his round belly, I was sure someone could have made him roll out of here as easily as that damn ball. Okay, he was heavier, but with the adrenaline from the game still pumping in my veins and the rage brewing, I was tempted to try.

I even pictured the trajectory to the door when my glare landed on a taller and leaner silhouette beyond the bleachers and two doe eyes that made my heart skip a beat, and with it, the adrenaline that had been rushing to my clenched fists veered to a lower direction—including my legs as I walked there, my jaw already relaxing enough for a smirk.

"Peachy, you came to cheer me?"

"No, I'd rather leave this to Christina." Althea lifted an eyebrow as if behind her glasses, she could catch the image behind my wandering gaze: her peachy body in the sexy uniform.

Mamma Mia... it would have been better than the whole cheer team and their acrobatic stunts. Those full thighs I'd grasped when I'd carried her on my birthday... that hourglass figure showing through her skinny jeans and fitted pale shirt... and all the rest I couldn't wait to see and feel.

"I'm here because we don't have art club today. Mrs. Hearts has a training course apparently, and since we can't use our phones, I thought I would come here to tell you." She glanced around from the worn-out bleachers painted in blue and white to the closest basket with the same lost look I wore every time Mrs. Hearts gave us a new assignment.

"That's awesome news!" I wasn't in the mood for the Queen of Hearts' disdainful 'ums' today. "Did you eat already?"

"No, I'm going to after—"

"Great, then, let's go eat out to celebrate." I grabbed the hand she was pointing behind her, tugging her closer in what was now a reflex. She pulled back; I tugged her back to me, and she pulled a little bit more.

"What about your practice? Don't you still have 30 minutes before the end?"

"The coach has kicked me off the court, and I need to get out of here before strangling someone." Which could happen at any whistle blow.

That's why I quickly led her through the door, after a glance to the court, where coach Gyles' head was so far up his ass—oops, I meant, 'strategy'—to notice anything.

"Just give me three minutes to shower, and I'll meet you out here. Unless you wanna join?"

Today clearly wouldn't be my lucky day as she immediately froze at the locker room door. But at least, she waited for me outside, and once showered and changed into dark jeans and a Nike tee shirt, I was as fresh as new, while the team was still talking strategy.

"There's a food truck down the block. Wanna try it?"

"You're sure you won't get in trouble? Aren't you supposed to 'watch and learn'?" Her big brown eyes traveled from the dark building already growing smaller behind us to my hand, staring at it like some dangerous weapon as I tugged her with me.

Not that I could blame her when I'd been a ticking bomb minutes ago, but I'd let go of the murderous thoughts the second I'd grabbed her hand, and if there were still sparks as my fingers slid between hers, her soft skin was strangely soothing.

"If I want to watch and learn, I watch NBA games. But wait... did you eavesdrop?"

"No, I just happened to be here, and it was impossible not to hear with how loud you were."

"Baby, I'm always loud." I winked, earning a 'really?' look. Though not the 'really? Let's test it' kind, sadly. More like a deadpan stare before she shook her head. "Since when you were there?"

"Not long. I arrived when you were playing. You know when you took the ball from your opponents. I don't know how you call it?" Her hands tried to imitate the move to help me understand, even if she didn't have to.

The gym may have disappeared behind the tall parasol pines and the whistle blows under the town hubbub and birdsong, but the images still replayed in my head. The ball in my hands, the clear basket, my gaze set on the aim...

"A steal. We call it a steal."

"Well, I guess it makes sense." Althea smiled, bringing my attention back to her lips right when they opened for a soft chuckle. "You did steal the ball and the show."

Why did that feel like I'd scored already? The sideways glance she gave me through her thick eyelashes sending the same rush of adrenaline through my veins.

"Yeah, girls always love it, and recruiters too. Not that anyone will see it if I can't play..." I muttered, running my fingers through my wet hair, and the droplets of water remaining from my quick shower made me realize how boiling hot I still was inside.

"Do you think the coach will really go on with his threat?"

"That bastard is so far up his ass that I wouldn't put it past him."

I could already hear the sermon I would get at the next practice, along with the whistle blows, and maybe the cracks of his enormous nose if he kept looking down on me with his 'strategies'.

Okay, I'd talked too soon about the murderous thoughts vanishing, and it didn't help that Althea let go of my hand, letting it clench and unclench into a fist as we reached the food truck line, full of people from school—students and teachers.

"Why don't you just follow his strategy, then?"

"If I do, there's no way we're gonna win. Plus, I won't be able to show my skill range to the recruiters. And if I don't, I can't play at all. There's no winning there."

And everyone knew how much I hated losing. Though it wasn't even about that. It wasn't about a point scored, not even three, not winning a game, nor the shiny cup of the championship.

My mind was already much farther: the college games, the NBA drafts, the Lakers arena, the real hoop strategies, the challenge, the crowd going wild, my heart rate pounding even wilder with the numbers flashing on the big screen... But every damn time, it all froze with a screeching sound.

"It's my future they're playing with for fuck sake, and no one understands!"

"I understand," she spoke up, her soft voice contrasting with my booming shouts—outside and inside—although it held enough intensity to silence me. "It's not exactly the same, but the art club could help a lot to get a scholarship for my dream college, and now, my future depends on a player who's there only to get in my pants."

Not only in your pants, baby. Definitely not only in your pants.

The comeback arose straight from my tightening pants as she pulled and sucked on those peachy lips like that, although the echo sounded from somewhere else as I recognized her nervous habit.

Anyway, nothing got to come out of my mouth as it was our turn to order, the talkative waitress making Althea's features relax into a smile with questions and compliments about her top, which turned out to be one of her creations, sewed and tinted from an old white shirt.

She beamed so much every time she talked about her passion. Everyone could see it.

"You know you're gonna be an amazing fashion designer one day," I told her as we walked away with our takeouts, and I had her full attention again, especially when I added, "You're madly talented, hard-working, and... you can count on me for the art club."

"Um, thank you?" The words sounded like a question while her narrowed gaze searched for the answer all over my face, and whatever she found, she quickly glanced away, taking a great interest in the park appearing before us, every fallen leaf crunching on our way, every twig in the squares of lawn, every bush, and...

"Oh look, we can sit on this b—"

"Bench?" I cocked an eyebrow, following the direction of her wide eyes before she quickly turned to me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean... It's still too soon?" She matched my lifted eyebrow, barely hiding her smile as I gasped, a hand over my chest.

"Is that how you thank your art partner? You'll have to make up for that..."

"Well, I did offer to pay for the lunch to thank you, but you didn't let me," she pointed out, swiftly avoiding my innuendo, figuratively and literally, as she stepped away, heading towards the bench, and I gladly followed her.

A bench alone with my peachy was much more interesting than watching the practice. With only the whistles of birds and greenery sheltering this small corner, I even had some ideas to throw more actions than my team of losers could ever.

Scoring, though, wouldn't be that easy, seeing the jump Althea made when I sat close enough for my thigh to brush hers.

"I would love to help you with your basketball problems, but I don't know anything." She took the paper bag from my hand, setting the takeaway boxes and bottles on the wooden planks between us.

She would soon learn that attacks past the defense zones were my specialty, though, and I already worked on getting rid of an obstacle as I grabbed my box of fries, leaning my left arm on the backrest towards her.

"Most of the team doesn't either, trust me. They're only here to get extra points for the college applications, or worse, to 'have fun and take part in a collective game'. That's why they voted this dumbass strategy by a majority." I chuckled, the words still bitter in my throat, so much that I couldn't even enjoy the crunchy fries, putting down my box after the first bite.

"I'm the captain for fuck's sake! I should have more weight on the strategies! If I'm only there to cheer them from the bench, might as well put me in a skirt with the cheerleaders."

"I'd love to see that," she hummed, apparently enjoying her fries and the image she pictured as she tilted her head, her impish gaze running down my torso.

"Wanna see my pompoms?"

Funny how that froze her eyes right at my belt before they snapped towards my wiggling eyebrows, her hand soon following as she swatted my shoulder, shaking her head. Still, I caught that tiny twitch of her lips.

"Tell me about your strategy."

Swift change of subject again. When most chicks usually tried to lead the conversation from basketball to my pants, she was doing the opposite, and contrary to all of them, behind their fake battling lashes and pushup bras, she looked genuine.

Adjusting her legs to face me cross-legged, she really listened as I started explaining my strategy. If her brows furrowed, it was to ask me to explain some hoop lingo, and not because she wondered in her head if my dick would brush her G-point later.

Was it a good thing, though?

As interesting as my discussion was, I wasn't one to get sidelined to the friends zone.

"Why can't it be both?"

"What?" I blinked, trying to remember what we were talking about before my dick could jump to a conclusion.

"Both strategies. I don't know exactly how, but if you change strategies through the game, it could unsettle your opponents, and everyone in your team would be happy."

"That's not..." The words froze midway through my parting mouth as her suggestion bounced through my head like a basketball before a shot. "... a bad idea. It's a fucking awesome idea!"

"You think?" she asked, sounding more shocked than I was through her shy smile.

This girl was a whole other level than any other chick I'd ever met. She had the lips, the body, the brain, and those doe eyes...

"Fuck, yes! I still have to convince the 'majority', but—"

"But you know how to be convincing."

"Yeah, and if it works, I'll call it the peachy tactic."

And that's how the peachy tactic was born... 😉

I know it wasn't the chapter you were expecting, but you know it's a slow-burn romance, I have to melt you slowly, and great things come to those who wait... 🤫🤭😘

In the meantime, I hope you liked this flashback, and if so, don't forget to vote ⭐ and comment all your thoughts about this Asher's POV! 👀

Young Asher was something else, wasn't he? 😅😈

I love you, my little Peaches! 😘❤️🍑